


Clint's a Nerd From Iowa

by awesomerosie



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Barton's Farm, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff and Crack, Iowa, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 17:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20086333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomerosie/pseuds/awesomerosie
Summary: Part of the Avengers shows up on Clint's lawn. He doesn't want them there, but he's also too lazy to make them leave. Clint shows them around Iowa anyway because he's a nice guy, and somewhere along the way secrets that weren't really secrets come out.





	Clint's a Nerd From Iowa

**Author's Note:**

> I figured this fandom could use a small nudge from a native Iowan...and then I used an Alaskan cafe at the end. In my defense, all of the cafes I know of in Iowa have stupid names and also, the cinnamon rolls at the Cookie Jar are the best thing I've ever eaten.
> 
> Also, fair warning, this is totally just my own self-indulgent headcanon, so read at your own risk.

Clint stared out into the world, gazing upon cornfields as far as the eye could see. It was peaceful, as long as you forgot that the only thing close enough to hear you scream was the mosquitoes. At the same time, that was the beauty of this place; Everyone knew Iowa existed, but no one ever came here. It was probably the safest place to be in the U.S., no matter how many pesticides they used or nuclear testing they did. Who would go to the effort of flying over one of the "important" U.S. cities to get  _ here _ ? It's  _ Iowa _ .

The peace was strangely easy for a paranoid ex-assassin to cope with. He never had to worry about blocked sightlines or sketchy people, only the deer that kept trying to eat his garden, and even then he had Lucky to scare them away. Which was why Clint tended to spend his days without his hearing aids in.

It was a relatively windy day - not quite tornado windy...yet - and Clint was locking the patio furniture in the barn on the off chance that it might turn nasty. Lucky had run off somewhere when the wind picked up again. Clint thought nothing of it until Lucky came charging back, visibly barking to get his attention. Clint whirled around, brandishing a lawn chair like a weapon.

Hovering above him was a massive black jet...thing. It looked familiar, but he couldn’t place where from, not that it really mattered because it was more than likely someone he “knew”. Clint dropped the chair enough to signal a truce, and the giant hunk of metal situated itself on his front lawn.

A minute later, lo and behold, Tony fucking Stark waltzed out like he owned the place. Several people followed behind, King T’Challa, Sam Wilson, a girl that he didn’t recognise, and lastly Steve and the fucking Winter Soldier. 

Clint chucked his thoroughly weaponized chair into the barn, shutting and locking it for good measure - farming equipment is expensive and Tony gets  _ ideas _ \- and then wandered over to the group with a hand in Lucky’s fur. Tony was talking, but Clint didn’t know what about because he kept turning his fucking head. Something was “quaint” and “adorable” and he definitely read “strapping farm boy” in there somewhere. Whatever it was Tony was talking about, Clint was glad he couldn’t hear it. Clint turned to the rest of the group, pointing and shrugging in the universal gesture for “What the fuck is he on about?”

Steve realised the situation first and then muddled through the signs for “no sleep”, which Clint supposed explained the erratic way Tony’s head was swiveling.

Clint returned a “What else is new?” and Steve gave a well-timed eye roll. By that point, almost everybody had caught on to the problem here. Clint sighed and waved at them to follow him into the house.

And that was how Clint Barton filled his living room with heroes. His gross, disgusting, empty chip bag littered living room. He may have moved back to Iowa, but he was still one ant infestation away from homelessness because he was too lazy to clean up after himself. Somehow driving the automated combine wasn’t as difficult as picking up his own trash.

Clint waved at the couches and ran upstairs to grab his aids off the charging dock. By the time he came back, Tony was already poking at the coffee machine, his couches were weighed down by several hundred pounds of man bod, and the girl he couldn't name was inspecting his very high-tech DVD player with a familiar look of disgust.

Clint stopped just inside the living room, watching through the open archway across the room as Tony cringed at his cheap coffee. "So," he said, "why are you all in my house?" Multiple people started talking all at once and Clint’s unused ears gave up on understanding any of it. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples, batting away the impending headache and wondering if they do this on purpose or if they were all just that stupid.

A honey-sweet voice echoed above the rest, and the room went quiet. Clint looked up to find everyone looking at the artist formerly known as “Winter Soldier”. Him and Steve shoved shoulder to shoulder on the loveseat was a weird enough sight, but the looks everyone else in the room gave him was even better.

The crowd turned to Clint then, expecting something from him. At least one of them had asked a question, but fuck if he knew what it was. Instead, he pointed to the only female in the room and asked a question of his own, “Who are you again?”

She rolled her eyes like the answer was obvious and said, “I am Shuri, Princess of Wakanda and Queen of tech.” She then shook the now disconnected DVD player. “This is held together with tape and chewing gum. How does it still function?”

“Through sheer force of will,” Clint replied, cringing as she picked at the tape. “Be careful with it, I pulled that out of a dumpster in Manhattan ten years ago and it’s still going strong.” The look of pure revulsion returned to her face and she shoved it back into the entertainment center. “Next.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, leaning on the arch. “Why does your coffee suck?”

“Because I hate everything and the horrid taste helps me feel alive. Next.” Steve gave Clint a  _ look _ , one that he extended to Murder Eyes too. “It was a  _ joke, Steve _ .”

“Exactly!” Tony exclaimed, throwing his hands up in triumph. “Entertainment  _ and _ lodging, this is why you’re my favorite avenger, Robin Hood.”

Clint made a face of his own, shock, confusion, and disgust all rolled into one. “I’ve never been your favorite  _ anything. Ever.” _

“Not talking to me like that, you aren’t.” Tony held up the bag of coffee so terrible that even Clint wasn’t willing to drink sober, and said, “We need to take a trip to the store. You do have those here in No Man’s Land, right?”

“Yes, Tony,” Clint sighed. “This is the Midwest, not Syberia.” He had to go two towns over, but yes, there was a grocery store nearby. “It closes in a couple hours though, so you should go quick.” He gestured to the door with a little flourish of ‘I hate you’ laced in there.

“Are you going to show us where it is?”

“Do you have a phone? There’s this magical thing called ‘Google Maps’. I know, crazy concept, having maps all in one place so people who find themselves lost in the middle of nowhere can find their way home? Madness.”

Tony did not look impressed. Professor Freeze kind of did though, so it was worth it.

Steve scratched the back of his head, a peeved tint to his cheeks. “Tony assured me that you had agreed to us coming as a...vacation, of sorts, but that seems not to be the case.”

“I called,” Tony said. “I called several times, but Clint didn’t pick up the phone.”

“I’m half deaf, you asswipe!”

“And I built you new ears! Which you ungratefully don’t even wear, might I add.”

Clint stared at Sam and T’Challa sitting silently amongst the nonsense. “Well?” Clint asked. “Either of you going to weigh in on this?”

“Nah,” Sam said, shaking his head, “I’ve learned to let you white boys fight it out. I’ll intervene if somebody starts throwing punches.”

“Aren’t you a counselor?”

Sam nodded. “PTSD counseling, not marriage counseling.”

Clint threw up his hands in defeat. “Fine, whatever. You can stay, but I only have one spare bed.” A bed that he bought for Natasha, but he was fairly sure she wouldn’t kill him for letting other people use it. Probably.

\---

And that’s how Clint ended up with Tony and Sam in the king-sized bed he bought for  _ himself. _ That was also how Clint found himself wandering down to the porch because his house was full of people and somehow he couldn’t quite get comfortable enough to sleep. And that was where he found a certain metal-armed asshole drinking his beer.

Clint didn’t even try to sneak up behind him because the slight squeak of the door had already given his position away, he did, however, reach around Bucky and steal the half-empty beer from his hand. Bucky let out a tiny whine of protest, but let the bottle slip through metal fingers.

“Y’know,” Clint said, sitting in the other chair, “when I said you could bring a friend over, I was expecting Steve, not the whole Avengers crew.”

Bucky reached down to grab another beer from the pack. "I didn't invite anyone."

"Nah, I figured it wasn't you," Clint sighed. "You would have texted ahead of time." Bucky gave a noncommittal grunt and Clint squinted at him. "You knew they were coming, didn't you?"

Bucky took a swig of his drink like it might be his last. “I may have had an inkling,” he said.

“Tony doesn’t do anything subtly. He probably projected it on the side of the tower for the whole world to see. Every tabloid in town would have the headline, ‘Avengers go on vacation to Nowheresville Iowa’ or ‘Stark has a secret family in Iowa?’ question mark. There is absolutely no way you could miss it.”

"Do you really think I pay any attention to tabloids?"

"Course you don't, you're _ boring _ ." Bucky gave him those fake-ass puppy-dog eyes like the giant pain in Clint's finely toned ass that he really was. "Of course," Clint continued, grinning at the way Bucky's face lit up, "I already knew you were a boring asshole."

Bucky's face dropped. "No one said anything about assholes."

"Oh, but I was definitely thinking it."

Bucky very calmly set his beer down. Equally as calmly, he reached over and grabbed a handful of Clint's shirt with his metal hand, and then proceeded to yank Clint in for a bruising kiss on the lips. To which Clint couldn't help but giggle because what kind of dumbass  _ yanks _ an assassin into  _ anything? _

Bucky pulled away, chill and slow and gentle once again, grinning like a top-class idiot, and asked, "Still too boring for you?"

"I never said  _ too _ boring. We can all be boring sometimes. But that, that was not boring  _ at all.  _ That you should do more of. Forever."

\---

Clint went to bed - alone - shortly after a very heated make-out session with his favorite ex-brainwashed buddy. Several hours later, he woke up - alone - in his giant, king-sized bed like he usually did. And then when he rolled onto his back with his arms swinging wildly because he was - alone _ - _ , he ended up jumping out of his skin because his hand touched skin and he was  _ not - alone -. _

Clint's head whipped to the side, sighing in relief for a moment when it was just Tony, and then his heart rate thundered back up because why was  _ Tony here? _ Clint jumped out of bed and dashed out of the room, skidding around the corner at the bottom of the stairs. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Steve and Bucky on his couch and Sam in his kitchen. Bucky's mouth twitched the tiniest bit upwards and the entirety of last night rushed back into Clint's mind. He bent over, hands braced on his knees, as he tried to get his heart back under control.

Tony came trudging down behind him, thrusting a closed fist in Clint's direction. Clint took it, still half-expecting an attack, and stared blankly down at the weird purple blobs resting in his palm. It took a solid thirty seconds for him to realize they were hearing aids and he should put them in his ears. By the time he managed to actually wake up enough for the aids to work, Tony had already moved to the kitchen and was dutifully brewing up some of the worst coffee known to man.

Bucky and Steve, who Clint  _ thought _ had slept in this room last night, were already showered and dressed and had piled the blankets and pillows neatly in a corner. Sam was also awake and bright-eyed, but according to his sweaty shirt, was last in the shower. A shower that Clint apparently okayed the usage of…? Which only made Clint panic, wondering if there was porn or something equally embarrassing open on any of his devices.

Bucky gave him a very subtle thumbs-up just out of Steve's view, and Clint relaxed just a smidge. Clint hobbled over and flopped into his sacred, oversized armchair - the one only he and Bucky were allowed on because Bucky looked like a fucking  _ boss _ in it and Clint has  _ needs _ .

Bucky and Steve were watching the news. Out of the dozens of streaming services they could pick from, they were watching the fucking channel 8 news. Clint had so many questions.

The TV cut to a commercial break and Bucky stood up all casual-like. Two commercials later he returned with a mug of coffee and a plate of cheese and crackers. He handed the mug to Clint, who absolutely made heart eyes at him, and set the plate on the coffee table.

Tony and Sam came stumbling in a moment later, filling the loveseat. T’Challa and Shuri were nowhere to be found. Clint wondered if he should be worried, but figured that Bucky would have said something. Which left them all just sitting in Clint’s living room watching the news at  _ 7 AM. _

\---

Once everyone had filled up on the remnants of Clint’s previously stocked cupboards, they all headed out on the town. There was no better way to get to know small-town Iowa than to go to the farmer’s market, and since they were all awake at this ungodly hour for some goddamn reason, that was exactly where they went.

The farmer’s market was a beautiful mix of old and new; Plastic tents alternated with wooden stalls, produce alternated with jewelry, lotions, and other goods made by the fine people of Iowa. Almost everyone was in jeans and a graphic tee of some sort, either of their brands or for a school they went to at some point.

All the city folk flitted from booth to booth, looking and touching and, in Tony’s case, buying anything that caught their eye. All except for Bucky. Bucky had seen all of this before on those days when he dragged Clint out of bed.

Bucky had been insistent on learning about Clint’s “people”. Clint didn’t understand that at all. Clint didn’t have “people”. Between the shit memories he had of Iowa, and the fact that he had spent more time outside of Iowa than in, he didn’t really think of these people as anything other than neighbors. Clint had neighbors in New York. Clint had neighbors when he lived in Europe for two years. Clint only had one “person” and he kept going back to New York to spend time with Steve - Clint wasn't bitter about that at all.

Clint and Bucky spent the next couple of hours walking at the back of their group. Bucky greeted all the older ladies as if he were the sweetest, most charming young man. Clint was used to his total persona change, but Steve kept giving them weird, watery-eyed looks.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” Mrs. Dewager yelled out, muscling her way through the crowd of people. “As I live and breathe, did you get bigger since I saw you last?” She pulled him down for a hug.

Bucky returned it heartily, much to Steve’s obvious surprise. “Nona! I’ve missed you. How are the grandkids?”

“The oldest is expecting again. The youngest is still getting into trouble at school. The usual. What about you? How could you leave Clint to manage the farm by himself for so long?”

At the mention of his name, Clint stopped paying attention. He turned to Steve instead, taking in the constipated face he was making. It was somewhere between beaming and crying and Clint wasn’t sure he wanted to know why, but he asked anyway, “You okay there, Cap?”

“What?” Steve asked, tearing his eyes away from the weirdly affectionate scene before them. “Oh, uh, I’m good. It’s just weird. Seeing him like that. Takes me back.”

“Ah, I get it,” Clint said, scuffing his shoe in the gravel. “It was weird for me too at first. Didn’t know someone so scary looking could make all the old ladies swoon.”

“Does he come here often?”

“I mean...pretty much whenever you’re not in New York, so yeah, I guess so.”

“He never said.”

“Yeah, that was my bad. I mostly didn’t want Tony to know, but then it kinda extended to everyone. Too late now, everyone’s gonna know by the time Tony gets bored.”

“And he enjoys it here?” Steve sounded almost skeptical about the possibility that someone might enjoy being in Iowa, but no skin off Clint’s nose, he knew how boring it was here.

“Seems like it,” Clint said, gesturing to the crowd of little old ladies gathering around Bucky and the smile on Sergeant Grumpy-Butt’s face. “He’s made friends at least. Can’t seem to deter him from knitting group on Tuesdays, so I’d say he’s made a pretty good life here.”

Steve didn’t even giggle at the knitting group - not - joke. He just stared on in wonder at the look on his face. Clint couldn’t even blame him for it; If he found out Natasha had joined a secret old ladies group he would be equally as stupefied.

“Steve?”

Steve startled out of his trance, head shaking away whatever was on his mind. “Yeah, uh, good. Good. I’m glad he has a place to relax.”

Clint would have asked about the crease between his eyebrows, but Bucky had extracted himself from the crowd with a, “I promise I’ll be there Tuesday,” and then he was heading their way. Steve tried to hide his emotional breakdown, but his face was as open as a postcard. “Everyone okay over here?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve said, “everything’s good.”

\---

They had to make a trip to the supermarket because Iowa doesn’t grow things like coffee beans, and once they had put a solid dent in Tony’s credit card and the stock of cheese in Northern Iowa, they finally made it back to the farm. Lucky came running out of the barn as soon as the truck passed through the gate, all too eager to get in the way while Clint tried to put groceries away.

Wait. Clint locked that barn yesterday.

A second later, Shuri came strolling out behind him like she hadn’t committed a crime by breaking in. Clint would be pissed off, but it was almost lunchtime and he really didn’t have the energy.

Everyone offered to help with putting things away and Clint accepted because hell yeah free labor, but then they kept asking  _ where  _ things went in his kitchen and other than the beer, Clint had no idea. Clint just shoved stuff into the cupboards. Natasha, Bucky, and Kate actually had a system worked out.

Bucky’s eyes rolled, and he started directing people. Cereal went there, yogurt on the middle shelf, etc. He looked all authoritative and beautiful doing it too, totally making up for the ridiculousness that was that morning.

And Tony was giving the both of them weird looks.

Should Clint and Bucky have told the rest of the team about their relationship? Probably. Was it super funny to watch them all figure it out in their own time? Definitely. Would Clint say anything about it before everyone figured it out? Absolutely not. It's not deception if you're lying by omission.

Clint was on the couch with a lap full of golden fur, being the best host by letting his guests do all the household chores. Only so many people could fit in the hallway he called a kitchen anyway, so it really wasn't worth the effort.

The noise had started getting to him. Clint had worn his aids for less than three days total in the past month. The difference they made was starting to get overwhelming. Clint closed his eyes, letting his head drop to the back of the couch as he listened intently, trying and failing to focus on  _ anything _ .

Something tapped him on the forehead. Clint's eyes shot open, already grabbing for the knife at his belt. Bucky didn't even flinch, just handed Clint another cup of coffee and said, "You can take them out. Take a nap or something. I'll make sure no one breaks anything."

"I'm good, just not used to the noise anymore." Bucky didn't look convinced. "I've gotta check on the fields after lunch anyway, I'll just deal until then, it's fine."

"You don't have to is all I'm saying."

"I know. Thanks for the coffee."

Tony's eyebrows were touching in the middle. He looked baffled beyond belief and like he wanted to say something, but couldn't figure out how to get it out without getting a scolding.

Clint couldn't find it in himself to care. He just zeroed in on the sugar-sweet tones of one Bucky Barnes.

\---

Clint was left with an Avenger sandwich that night. Somehow Clint had been the last one to bed and that meant that he got the middle spot. But at least it was Sam and Tony, not Sam and Steve. He couldn’t imagine trying to stuff his own broad shoulders between those two; Forget sandwich, they would be sardines.

Clint looked at the space between Sam and Tony, then down at Lucky by his knee, and quickly decided against crawling in there. Next question though, where else could he sleep?

The other bedroom was occupied by T’Challa and Shuri, who Clint was pretty sure was about 17 years old, and he was going to keep his distance  _ before  _ he accidentally caused an international incident. But since his couches were full of super-soldier, that basically left his armchair and the rug in his living room, which was just great.

Clint trudged back downstairs, dreading that night’s sleep. Bucky got the long couch because of course he did - Steve wouldn’t be Steve if he didn’t give up everything for Bucky. Clint watched Bucky’s restless fidgeting for a moment, contemplating what would happen if he just launched himself at Bucky right now.

Clint looked at Lucky, then at Steve, then he started running. He jumped, flew over the armrest, and landed square on Bucky’s chest with simultaneous grunts.

Steve’s eyes flew open, darting around until they fell on the pair of losers. He assessed the situation with a strict, disapproving glare, and carefully flopped over to give them a semblance of privacy.

Bucky's hands had already started trailing down Clint's sides, massaging the tension from his muscles, and just generally treating Clint like a princess; And honestly, who wouldn't want someone treating them like a princess? Clint sighed into Bucky's neck, the weight of that day melting away.

“I’m exhausted,” Clint said, keeping his voice as low as it could go without it disappearing from his own ears.

“Then sleep.” Which, if he could, he would be right now, but since he couldn’t, he wasn’t. Come on, Buck, keep with the program.

"Y'know, I would, but there are two assholes taking up my bed."

"So you decided to come steal mine?"

"No...I came to use you as a bed."

“Ah,” Bucky chuckled, breath fluffing Clint’s hair.

The room quieted to just the sound of Lucky's snuffly nose. He plopped down beside the couch with a yawn.

Clint picked his head up to look Bucky in the face. "Aren't you going to throw me off or something?"

Bucky's arms wrapped around Clint, holding him down. "Nah, you aren't that heavy." That was a fucking lie. Clint knew exactly how dense he was.

"Whatever you say, man, but don't whine about it tomorrow."

\---

The next morning, Clint woke up alone. At mid-morning no less, which was next to impossible with a dog in the house. But there he was, tucked into the couch in a room so empty that he could hear the birds outside.

It only stayed that way for a moment though, unfortunately. All too soon his beat-up truck was rumbling into the driveway, and his house was filling up with weirdos once again.

Lucky attacked him first, hopping onto the couch and licking at Clint’s face, forcing him to sit up. The rest filtered in, all claiming a spot somewhere in the room, ending up with too many people stacked on the couches and Tony sitting in  _ Clint's _ chair.

It was at that point that Clint figured out that he forgot to take his aids out. Too many people were talking all at once, arguing about superior breakfasts and whether they should replace all of Clint's stuff with shit that  _ works _ .

Clint just looked to Bucky on the arm beside him who signed, "Cookie Jar" - their favorite cafe - and "Sleep well?"

Clint nodded and tapped vaguely at his chin because he was too lazy to properly sign "thank you". And then he looked down at the thing in Bucky's hand. The beautiful white styrofoam container had steam drifting out of the cracks. The container that smelled exactly like the sinfully amazing deep-fried cinnamon roll that he loved.

Heart-eyes only half covered the look Clint gave Bucky then. Nothing could properly describe the absolute adoration Clint felt for him at that moment.

Bucky's chest shook with a chuckle too low for Clint's muggy ears to hear, and he handed over the sticky sweet goodness that dreams were made of.

Clint was several orgasmic bites in when he finally looked up, trying to figure out why everyone had gone silent. It was when Bucky's hand slid out of his hair and fell to his side that he realized it was  _ them. _

Shuri just looked amused like she knew what was going on already. Steve was adamantly ruffling Lucky's fur like he really didn't want to be here. But the others, they all looked like they saw a ghost.

"Alright," Tony said, "was anyone going to tell me that the Winter Soldier found his Ice Queen or was I just supposed to find that out through observation?!" That question spurred a barrage of other questions and statements and far too many of Steve's  _ looks _ .

"Look," Clint interrupted, "we weren't trying to hide it from you."

"You weren't?" Steve had the gall to ask.

"My dude," Clint said with as little condescension as he could manage, "we're assassins. Special ops. Brooders of the night. If we didn't want you to know, then you wouldn't know."

"But you never said anything." Aww, Steve, no. He looked so sad.

"Yeah," Clint said, reaching for Bucky's dangling hand, "because it's an 'us' thing, not a 'rest of the world' thing." He felt like such a loser. He felt like a cheesy rom-com protagonist. He felt like he might actually die of embarrassment because Bucky was just sitting there doing nothing to help him.

They all sat in silence, staring at each other and waiting for someone to make the next move. Predictably, Tony couldn't handle the awkward and asked, "Do you make him sleep on the couch all the time? That's cold, Barton." The tension broke with muffled giggles.

"No," Clint said, offended down to his core, "someone stole his spot on my bed. That bed had spots for three occupants before you showed up, but no, you and your gangly limbs take two and a half."

"Wait," Steve said, looking more tired than before, "three?"

"Yeah, me, Bucky, and Pizza Dog." Steve breathed a sigh of relief right as Clint continued with a sinister grin, "Or that guy we invite over sometimes. He's fun." Steve choked on his own spit. Bucky smacked Clint upside the head. It was totally worth it. "Kidding...mostly."

"Well," Tony said, standing and brushing himself off, "I think that's enough excitement for the month. How's everyone feel about stopping in Tennessee on our way home?"

Everyone started gathering up their things, leaving Clint on the couch to eat his rapidly cooling cinnamon roll with Bucky's fingers carding through his hair. As quickly as they had arrived, they all filed out of his house, waving goodbye.

Steve stopped at the door, last one out. "Are you coming with, Buck?"

Bucky looked from Clint to Steve and shook his head. "Nah, I promised I would be at knitting group. I'll catch up soon."

Steve's expression was torn and then leveled out to a look of slightly resigned happiness. "Okay, see you later then."

The door clicked behind Steve and the house went quiet again. Clint looked up at Bucky and held out a piece of his precious breakfast. Bucky took it with a smirk, pressing a sticky kiss to Clint's nose as he slid off the armrest and onto the cushion beside him. Clint chucked a neglected sausage at Lucky while he situated comfortably under Bucky's arm.

Even with the sudden intrusion and the constant reminders that neither one of them was fully "with it", Clint couldn't think of a better life. This, sitting on a shitty couch in a shitty house with shit all over the floor, this was a better life than Clint imagined for himself and he wouldn't change it for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading that weird nonsense fic. I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> For updates and whatnot check me out at RosieWritesRidiculousShit on [Tumblr.](https://rosiewritesridiculousshit.tumblr.com//)


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